


It's Not Easy

by Medie



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-04
Updated: 2010-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 00:51:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She makes a face. "If one more person asks me how I got my skin that colour -- "</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Easy

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/bridge2sickbay/profile)[**bridge2sickbay**](http://community.livejournal.com/bridge2sickbay/) \- Gaila, Spock, "St. Patrick's Day" (if shades of Gaila/Spock snuck in there, do not ask me how.)

Ordinarily, Gaila loves Terran holidays. Human beings, despite all their arguments to the contrary, celebrate the most peculiar things at the most peculiar times of the year and in the most impressive of variations.

She had seen few species with such a riotous display of, well, festive tradition. Within just the space of a simple transport, one could find a dozen different holidays to mark the same event or deity.

Gaila has always been, and remains, fascinated by each and every permutation. She's never seen so many different festivals dedicated to the dead (and the North American fascination for brightly coloured costumes and the dispensing of candy is particularly confusing as she is uncertain precisely how this relates to those who have crossed. Unfortunately, some of the reading she has sought out seems to have been lost during the rebuilding after their last great war and, thus, she remains reluctantly ignorant) or to love.

She is also uncertain how chocolate and candy relate to both holidays or, for that matter, how food has come to play such a prominent role in nearly every holiday. As far as she is aware, only Vulcans experience an intoxication upon their ingestion. She has asked, but no one seems eager to explain.

Gaila has learned to shake her head, ignore their amused looks, and continue with her research. Humans can be funny little things at times and she, usually, enjoys that.

There are, however, some that she finds it wearying. It is for that reason that she finds herself at Spock's door, keying his personal passcode and slipping into his office.

Spock's office is warmer than she's used to though, she knows, he keeps it set a full fifteen degrees below that which he finds comfortable. A year ago, she might have kept her uniform jacket on, eager to follow the Terran rules toward propriety. However, knowing him now as she does, she doesn't waste time. It ends up hung neatly on the back of her chair and, by the time he walks in, she's curled up in said chair with her padd and a glass of saya.

"You're right," she says, absently, scrolling down the page. "It's wonderful."

Spock inclines his head in acknowledgement and, then, before she can stop him, adjusts the temperature controls another ten degrees lower. "It is best heated," he says in explanation.

Gaila's learned, by now, never to argue with a Vulcan who's trying to be hospitable. Besides, from Spock, she finds that it is not unpleasant.

"I apologize for the delay," he says, sitting down. He's pulling out the chess game even before she can sit up straight. Gaila likes this. Somewhere in the terms of their acquaintance, she and Spock have begun to communicate in half-sentences, gestures, and indeed the odd look. She's not sure exactly what that means, but she likes it anyway. "There was a matter of -- "

"Avoiding them?" Gaila smiles, a little wryly, and nods once. "Yes. I had the same problem." It's not that she dislikes celebrating Terran holidays. She does. Her previous study of their peculiarities has instilled a certain fondness. It is, more, the unfortunate side effects of the Terran fondness for alcoholic beverages on these days. "They are particularly boisterous this year."

"Indeed," Spock agrees. "Their revelry is the cause for my delay. We were engaged in conference with the mayor. Apparently, unknown parties haveintroduced a chemical agent into San Fransisco bay which has, effectively, altered the colour of the water."

Gaila's eyebrows rise. "They changed the colour?" She doesn't have to ask to what.

He nods once. "The usual suspects have been questioned and claim ignorance." Spock's expression is quite emphatic on his opinion of their denials, though neither he nor Gaila acknowledge that opinion. "At any rate, the effect is temporary. The mayor sees no need to request our assistance in neutralizing the effect."

Gaila gets up to try the heated saya. "You sound disappointed," she says, returning with a mug for them both.

"It would have made a most instructive lesson," Spock observes. He finishes setting up the chess board. "Do you have a preference?" he says of the board.

Gaila picks, saying, "Thank you."

"I find your presence agreeable," he says, making his first move. "It is, for that reason, somewhat selfish to permit you to join me here."

"No, it isn't," Gaila says. Before he can ask, she adds, "I like coming here."

He nods, continues, but there is a slight greenish tinge to his cheeks that makes her smile. "I am pleased that you do. Particularly since my intent is to provide refuge. If I find this particular Terran holiday to be wearisome as it pertains to their unfortunate attempts at humor, then your experience must be -- "

"Yes," Gaila nods. "Well, no, I know they don't _mean_ it but -- " she makes a face. "If one more person asks me how I got my skin that colour -- "

It was funny, the first time. Less so on the second. Having lost count, she knows that it is a demerit waiting to happen.

"Fortunate then," he says, "that you are here. As I am unlikely to make such a mistake, you will not be expelled for physical violence. As skilled a pirate as you would likely be, I would find your absence unfortunate."

Gaila smiles.

They fall silent for a moment as she picks up a chess piece, eyes the board, and lets it slide neatly into place. Spock's eyebrow shoots up - he approves - and she sits back. "I've been working on something new," she says, changing the conversation to less complicated ground.

"Of what nature?" It is not the first research project she has shared with him. The many hours spent discussing those projects is, in large part, the founding basis for their current dynamic. Gaila likes Spock's opinion and his perspective. Spock professes the same of her.

On some worlds, Gaila knows, this means they're married. She doesn't think that's a bad thing. Pushing the padd toward him, she picks up her mug. "It's an analysis of Terran cultural celebrations and their potential conflicts with non-Terran races."

All things considered, she thinks, it would do Starfleet some good to think about it. She knows she and Spock would find it a lot easier. Even getting across campus without bad jokes is, on St. Patrick's Day, quite a challenge.

Invading Qo'nos might be easier.

She sits, waiting, as he reviews it. "It is quite insightful, however, I must admit uncertainty toward your title. It seems somewhat facetious."

"It is," Gaila says, "but it's also very appropriate." She wiggles her very green fingers his way. "Human research always says to start with a humorous story or anecdote."

Spock nods. "You are correct." He makes another move on the board. "Should you require assistance -- "

Gaila dimples. "It's why I brought it with me." She pushes the game aside. "Shall we get started?"


End file.
